Selene
by Hripsime
Summary: After moving to Tulsa, Oklahoma, Selene Griffiths must adjust to the changes with living in a new state after living in Long Island her entire life. The first chapter in the series, Selene will encounter the well-known characters of The Outsiders in the next chapter (coming soon!)
1. So passes the glory of the world

**JULY 7TH, 1967- TULSA, OKLAHOMA**

Let me tell you, I had one of the worst summers one could have, and that's not even including the fact that I got mixed up in some gang drama and the fact that I saw several people die. My name is Selene Griffiths, and you're about to hear my story. At the time of telling this, I'm eighteen, but the events detailed here happened when I was sixteen.

**JUNE 1965- LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK.**

This has been the worst summer yet, and it hasn't even really started. We have to move to Tulsa, Oklahoma, with the reasons being that the lab my father works at (he's a scientist) has been moved to Tulsa, and that there is supposedly a really good science school there called the Elk Valley Science & Technology Academy. The school I'm going to currently is a very prestigious Catholic school known as Holy Trinity Preparatory. It's a very good school, but it isn't exactly the place where you graduate a scientist.

We live on Long Island, right on the Long Island Sound. One of the reasons I was deeply unsatisfied with the move was the fact that when I woke up, I wouldn't be seeing the sun glitter on the waves, or our sailboat moored at its dock. Yes, we have a boat. Every summer, we sail up the Sound to Newport, Block, Martha's Vineyard, and Nantucket. It is absolutely amazing and I look forwards to it every year. My mother says that we aren't selling the boat, merely keeping it at a marina, and that we would be able to go on our trip next summer. It's not the same, I said. The boat's not going to be right there in our backyard. We can't go for evening sails when it's warm out. Now it's a million miles away in some harbor.

Another thing I hated was the fact that I would be leaving all my friends behind. I don't have a lot of friends, only a few very close ones. Well, they won't be my friends anymore, soon enough, because I won't be able to keep in touch with them at all. Letters are annoying to write and send, and they take too long to get replies. My mother says I should make some new friends in Tulsa. Me? Make new friends? Oh no. I already had a hard enough time making friends at Holy Trinity, and now I have to make friends in the boondocks of the Midwest? I'd rather be dead.

Another thing that I'd like to point out is that I don't exactly fit in anywhere, as my style choices are a bit unorthodox for a girl my age. For one thing, my hair is cut very short and in an unusual style. It's long on top, and shaved underneath and in the back. I started cutting my hair in the sixth grade, but only went all the way in ninth grade. My father nearly had a heart attack when he saw I shaved it, but he doesn't like most things, to be fair. This brings me to the next thing, my clothing style. My style isn't very feminine and I hate skirts and dresses. Don't even get me started on makeup and nail varnish. My father says I'm too masculine and that I look like a boy. He's half right, as I have been mistaken for a male several times, as I'm extremely skinny and kind of short. To be honest, who cares? Surprisingly, my mother is on board with my appearance, so I'm good for now.

My best friend, Hedwig Plantagenet, says that Oklahoma isn't really a nice place, from what she's heard. She says there's a lot of greasers, whom she describes as "a scourge on society". I told her that they'd probably stay away from me, because I can fight anyone if I wanted to. Hedwig just rolled her eyes and said that just because I watch "those karate movies" doesn't mean I could fight someone. She did give me a cool butterfly knife (she called it a balisong) and said I could use it to defend myself, so that's cool.

We left for Oklahoma a few days after I was let out of school, on the sixteenth of June. It was disgustingly hot that summer, so hot that being outdoors for more than an hour would be extremely uncomfortable. The road trip there took approximately fifty thousand years, although in actuality it took a few days.

**1965- TULSA,** **OKLAHOMA**

When we arrived in Tulsa, it was a bit of a shock. I can tell you, it was not Long Island. _Definitely _not Long Island. There weren't any luxury shops or people in expensive clothing. I realized that Hedwig was right, and then I saw _them. _The greasers. The degenerates. All the color drained from my face and I said "Oh hell no." I slumped down in my seat and shut my eyes, trying to will myself someplace else.

The new house was on a shady tree-lined road. 6 Erikson Drive was the address, and it was an older home that looked vaguely Victorian. My mother seemed excited about it for some reason. In Long Island, our old house was a nice Cape Cod that was bright and let in a lot of light. Here, it was dark, even as the late afternoon sun streamed in, and the walls seemed to close in. I did get a room that faced the front, but instead of waking up and seeing the Sound, you saw the road. This place was nothing like my old home.

I hated Oklahoma. I hated the house, the view, the people, _every single thing _about this godforsaken state. I locked myself in the closet, which was surprisingly a walk-in, and cursed Oklahoma for the next half hour. When I emerged, I was still in a terrible mood. My mother started calling me to come get my things, so I made my way downstairs, into the fading dusky light.

The next few weeks were a blur of my parents looking through design magazines and gawking at various showrooms. It was all terribly boring and I ended up staying at the house after the fifth showroom visit. All that work was done for nothing, anyway, as we ended up just decorating it the same as our old house, except it looked a bit darker.

One of the few good things that came out of this was that I got a new pair of boots. I saw them in the shop window of a department store. It was not a luxury store like the ones in Long Island, but as soon as I saw the boots, I knew I was in love. They were eight-hole oxblood Dr. Martens, which is an English brand. They were the most beautiful boots I had ever seen, and I was able to get them because my other pair was getting worn and raggedy. When I arrived home. I admired their beauty for a time.

A few days later, to my surprise, my parents announced that they were going to Nevada for a few weeks. Apparently, my father's lab was running some type of testing in Nevada (he wouldn't specify what kind of tests) and also because they were going to Las Vegas. To my disappointment, I wasn't allowed to come, as my mother said I had to get to know my way around and make some friends. Las Vegas is stupid anywhere, there's too many fake people there.

The day after my parents left, I decided I would take a walk around the neighborhood. I decided to wear a white button-down collared shirt, khaki chinos, and my oxblood Dr. Martens. I made sure to bring my butterfly knife with me, because hey, you never know. I also made sure to tuck my pant legs into my boots, because I wanted to show them off. It was a lovely sunny afternoon, and it wasn't too hot. As I walked through the streets blithely, I noticed that despite still being in a residential area, the houses were much smaller and more run down. I felt my pocket for my butterfly knife, which thankfully was still there, and I started to turn around when I heard voices up ahead. Human voices- male voices, and I heard several swears. I decided to go check out what was happening up ahead, as there was seriously very little action in the last few weeks. What's the worst that could happen, anyway?


	2. A precepice in front, wolves behind

**1965- TULSA, OKLAHOMA**

As I made my way to the source of the voices, I saw where they were coming from. Several males, probably late teens or early twenties, dressed in preppy clothing (wait, WHAT?) were attacking a boy, probably in his mid to early teens. The boy was begging for mercy in between swearing at his attackers. I was quite unsettled and a little frightened by this scene. So this is what Oklahoma is like, I thought. People beating others senseless for no apparent reason. Honestly, I love a good fight, but I didn't like this. So I decided to shut it down.

"Hey! I see that most of you are probably over eighteen, and it really takes someone with great cowardice and a tremendous lack of moral stamina to think that is fine to harm a young teen. Unless you want me to enact worse on you, I advise that you step away from the boy and leave as soon as possible."

All of them turned to look at me, and their eyes widened and their faces paled. Suddenly, they took off running, leaving the teenager being attacked out in the open and sitting on the pavement. I walked over to him and crouched down to look at him. He had dark auburn hair and green-grey eyes, and was rubbing his face from where he was struck. The boy looked at me and spoke.

"Thank you for saving my ass. I'm pretty sure they would have killed me if you didn't show up."

He seemed very grateful. As I looked at him, I noticed some things that seemed like red flags. For one thing, his clothing style resembled what I'd seen of the greasers in the magazines that Hedwig would show me, Also, he wore quite a lot of hair product in his hair, from what I could tell. A combination of curiosity and nervousness welled up inside me. Did I save a degenerate without knowing? Treading carefully, I asked the question.

"Hold up. Are you, by any chance, one of those greasers?"

He had an odd look on his face, one of slight fear and anxiousness, almost like he was frightened to answer the question. He then spoke again, carefully if a bit reluctant.

"Well, yes, I am which is why-"

"So you are one of those damned greasers I've heard so much about."

I grabbed him by the shirt collar and drew him up to full height. He was a little taller than me, probably by a few inches. He had fear in his eyes, that he thought that he was saved, only that he was about to get hurt again. My hands were clenched tight around the collar, my fingernails digging into the fabric. I was thinking about what to do to him, and I smirked and shook him slightly.

"Look, I'm going to beat your ass. Don't worry, it will only hurt a lot!"

I was just about to shove him to the ground when I heard footsteps, and I heard someone shout.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing to him?!"

I barely jumped away when someone backhanded me across the face so hard I went stumbling backwards and I fell to my knees. You know how when you get hurt, the pain only comes after the initial impact? Well, the searing pain came quickly, and when I put my hand to my face, it came back covered in blood. My nose had started bleeding. My vision was blurry and I was seeing stars. Then, someone walked over to me, grabbed my wrist, and stood me up. They held my wrist suspended above me, and then someone else with an even harder grip grabbed my hand and pulled it up. I was about to try and break free when a gleaming switchblade held by a hand passed by the corner of my eye, and then I felt the cold steel of the blade against my throat. A deep voice behind me then spoke.

"Boy, if you move, I'll slit your throat."

That's when I became really scared. So this is how I die, I wondered dimly. I lifted my head a little straighter, and my heart sank when I saw I was surrounded by five greasers, including the one I saved from being attacked. There were seven in total, with two holding me hostage. I didn't get a good look at the ones behind me, but I could guess that their ages ranged from mid-teens to early twenties. One of them, the oldest looking one, who appeared to be about twenty, stepped forwards. He had cold, hard eyes, and his jaw was set in a straight line. He reminded me of the samurai in Akira Kurosawa's films, and I wondered if this man was the one who struck me.

"I'm going to be very clear and straight about this. What the hell where you doing to my youngest brother?"

Struggling, I spoke. "You're a damn idiot," I spat, "You're a bloody idiot and a son of a-"

He struck me once again. My vision swam, and the searing pain spread across my face. I tasted blood- the slap must have split my lip, too. Blood was dripping down my chin onto my shirt, where a larger bloodstain was present. I was trembling badly, and whoever was behind me pressed the switchblade harder into my throat.

"So you're going to have an attitude now and talk back? Dallas, show him what happens when you do that."

Dallas, the one with the switchblade, spoke in his deep voice again. "Darrel, you want me to slit the son of a bitch's throat?"

That's when I freaked out and finally came to my senses. Before Darrel could respond, I shouted "I'm a female! A female! You wouldn't kill a sixteen-year-old female, would you?"

Suddenly, everyone went quiet, presumably trying to figure out what to do or what to say. Darrel was about to say something when another one of the greasers, who looked about eighteen shouted "Let's rape the bitch!" and made a grab for me. For a split second, I was pretty sure I was going to die, but then the boy from earlier called out.

"No! Stop this! This is madness! Spare her, she was only bluffing! She had no intention to hurt me!"

Darrel looked at the boy, who I remember he said was his brother. He sighed, and spoke once more. "Dallas, Sodapop, release her."

As soon as the grip on my wrists were released, I walked over so I was facing all of them, and I took out my butterfly knife, but did not unfold it. I looked at them all, and I started to talk.

"First, I'd like to thank you all for not killing me, although you did harm me slightly, and second, I'd like to thank you, Darrel, for allowing me to be released, but I'd really like to thank you-" I gestured at the boy vaguely "although, what's your name?"

"Ponyboy. Ponyboy Curtis." he said. "Also, that's my oldest brother, and that's my brother Sodapop," he gestured to the one who was holding my left wrist.

"Well, Ponyboy, I'd like to thank you for advocating on my behalf, as you really did save me. Also, I'm very sorry for threatening you. I wouldn't actually attack anyone, I was just messing around."

He smiled slightly, and said "I accept your apology. I'm sure you're a decent person. Shall I introduce you to my friends?"

"Yes, please do. I would like to know."

Ponyboy stated gesturing to the others. "The one who had the knife at your throat, that's Dallas, the one who tried to rape you, that's Two-Bit, that's Steve, and that's Johnny," gesturing at the very innocent-looking black-haired boy.

Darrel spoke again "Pony, I think we better get going..."

Ponyboy straightened himself out and looked around. "Well, if I don't see you, it was nice meeting you. You never gave your name?"

"Selene, Selene Griffiths." I said.

"Yes, Selene, if we don't see you, it was good meeting you, and we better go."

"Good-bye, I guess I'll see you... tomorrow."

He smiled. "That sounds about right."

They walked away in the opposite direction from where I came from, and I started walking. When I got home, I looked in the mirror, and received a nasty shock. My face was covered with blood, and so was my white collared shirt. I washed the blood off my face, and I tried my best to remove the stain from the shirt. I ended up having to bleach it. I went upstairs, changed into a clean shirt, took off my Dr. Martens, and went to lie on my bed.

Did I actually just make a friend, even though I kind of tried to beat him, and then I got attacked by his siblings and friends? It was a bit of an odd way to become friends, but this Ponyboy Curtis seemed like a good kid. I guess I would be seeing him tomorrow. For the first time in a long time, I felt something like a glimmer of hope that maybe Oklahoma won't be so bad.


End file.
